Guarding His Midnight Witness

by Anna J. Stewart

  “It’s right here.” Santos plucked a file off the top of his inbox. “I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet. What was this woman’s name again?” He turned to his computer and started typing.

  “Greta. Greta Renault.”

  “Greta Renault.” Santos’s fingers seemed to freeze over the keyboard after typing in her name. “Definitely not an old lady.”

  No, Jack thought. She wasn’t. “Is that why I was sent out there? Because you all thought it was a throwaway case?”

  “I thought it was a way to gently ease you back in,” Santos said without a hint of apology in his voice. “You’ve had a rough go of things, Jack. I didn’t want you in over your head your first case back, especially since Cole’s still on vacation. Not with—”

  “Not with all the higher-ups’ eyes on me.” Because the opportunity had presented itself, he figured he had nothing to lose. To say he’d been encouraged to retire rather than return to the job was an understatement. They didn’t see him as a cop anymore. They saw him as a liability.

  “Your shooting and fallout from the Mina Goodale case exposed a lot of holes in various government agencies, and they’re all pretty much blaming each other. On the one hand, what happened will trigger important changes. On the other—” Santos cringed “—you didn’t make many friends.”

  “How selfish of me to get shot.” He didn’t even try to hide the bitterness in his voice. Times like this he wondered why he hadn’t taken the early retirement that had been offered. He didn’t want anyone’s sympathy, and he sure didn’t need it. He already blamed himself enough; he didn’t appreciate the politicos piling on.

  Lt. Santos looked at Jack long and hard enough to leave him wanting to squirm. Finally, he asked, “Are you certain about Fremont?”

  Certain? Could anyone ever be certain about anything? He couldn’t shake what Ashley had told him, that his instincts might not be as sharp as they once were. That it would take a while to get back to the top of his game. Even so... “Yes.”

  “And you’re willing to take this all the way? Even if it blows up in your face?”

  He thought immediately of Greta, of the disappointment-glazed grief he’d seen in her eyes the other night. And it was that, even more than the determined declaration she’d made about proving Fremont guilty on her own, that had him nodding. “Yes.”

  “Okay.” Santos nodded. “Then I’m going to make an off-the-record suggestion you’re not going to like.”

  “Because this conversation has been going so well so far.”

  Santos ignored the quip. “If you have something on Fremont, you need to tie off every possible thread he can pull loose. You start digging, you dig fast and you dig deep. Most of all, you need to be careful. Invisible careful.”

  Having never heard his boss use that term before, he wasn’t entirely sure where this was going.

  “Fill me in, Jack. Tell me about the case, everything you know so far. All of it, so I know what’s coming at us. Tell me about Fremont and—” Santos pointed to his screen “—Greta Renault.”

  “We should probably bring in Bowie to hear the full explanation.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  Less than a half hour later, Jack was finishing his coffee while he and Bowie meticulously went through the events of visiting Greta Renault, after which Jack continued the story with his visit to Fremont’s office and a kiss-and-nap-redacted version of his follow-up with Greta.

  “You didn’t take Deputy Bowman with you today,” Santos observed as Bowie stood at attention by the door. “At ease before you sprain something, Deputy.”

  “Sir.”

  Jack shook his head. “Because it wasn’t official.” It made sense even if it wasn’t the truth. “And no offense, kid, but even in plain clothes, you look like a cop.”

  “None taken. Sir.”

  Santos’s eyebrows lifted. Silently, Jack sighed. He shouldn’t have jumped down Bowie’s throat. He was going to be paying for his misjudgment of his stand-in partner for quite some time.

  “Greta Renault claims to have seen Doyle Fremont murder someone,” Jack said. “Before we have her come in to make a formal statement and have the media crawling all over it, I wanted to check Fremont’s offices out. See if anything she said she saw actually fit.” Jack noted a flicker of recognition on Bowie’s face out of the corner of his eye. “As much as I didn’t want to admit it at the time, there was a part of me that didn’t quite believe her. She’s...” Bowie straightened. Jack continued, “Different. Eccentric. And could, to some people, come across as—”

  “Kooky?” Santos finished for him. He frowned and leaned his arms on his desk. “Deputy Bowman’s voice carries at times.”

  Bowie seemed to sag a bit, surrendering to Jack’s dressing-down.

  “So, to be sure,” Jack said steering them back on topic, “I took a look around the place.”

  “Without a search warrant.”

  “Yes, sir.” He wanted to argue he had probable cause, but he didn’t. “As I said, nothing official.”

  “I’m assuming that won’t happen again?”

  “No, sir,” Jack assured him.

  “So? Did you find something, or was it just speaking with Mr. Fremont that had him calling in the cavalry?” Santos asked.

  Bowie’s stiff spine relaxed as his eyes flashed with interest. “You spoke with Doyle Fremont?”

  “I didn’t plan to,” Jack explained. “He arrived at the complex just as I was leaving. And he invited me to stay a bit and talk. Which I did because I was curious. Because I found this.” Jack pulled out his phone, clicked it on and set it screen up on the desk. Both Bowie and Santos leaned over to look at the image on his phone. “It’s a lens from a pair of glasses. Identical to the glasses Miss Renault described in her account.” He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out the folded up drawing Greta had handed him on his way out of her apartment. The storyboard illustrations of the crime she witnessed right there, in black and white. “She drew the lens. It’s exactly what I found under the table.”

  Bowie frowned. “She’s telling the truth?”

  “We can’t say that definitively. Not based on a single piece of glass.” Even if it had been enough to convince him. “Or we couldn’t.” Jack looked at his boss. “I suspected before I got back, but knowing that Fremont’s been complaining about my visit? There’s something here. I spooked him, which means he’s hiding something. I can feel it.” And even though his feelings and intuition were a bit off-kilter these days, he still had enough faith left in himself to go with his gut. And if they could prove Doyle Fremont was a killer, he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone questioning his judgment for a good long time. “Something went down in that office the other night. Let me see what I can turn up off the record.”

  “A body would be nice.” Santos brought a hand to his lips and tapped his fingers. “Fremont is connected, incestuously connected, to just about every politician in this state if you ask me. If word gets out we’re investigating him—”

  “It won’t,” Jack promised. “I won’t let it.”

  Santos smirked. “I wouldn’t go playing chicken with Doyle Fremont if I were you. You have some leeway as I’ve been told Fremont is heading back out of town for at least a week, but keep in mind, these days just the hint of police corruption or a detective with a vendetta is going to end more than just your career, Jack. It’ll take all of us down.”

  “I know.” Which was why he’d be keeping a very close eye on Greta. He couldn’t risk her going off on her own and wreaking havoc with Jack’s and his friends’ careers. But he couldn’t walk away from Greta, from his witness. He’d done that once before and it had cost someone her life.

  Santos didn’t look pleased, but there was the hint of a gleam in his eyes. “Okay. You have until Fremont is back in town. If nothi
ng pops by then, I’m pulling the plug. In the meantime, I’ll throw you some less consequential cases to keep up appearances, but cover your sixes. Both of you. You keep this far off the official radar until we’re solid as cement.” He pointed at each of them. “Fremont isn’t just a big fish, he’s a shark. One that a lot of people are going to want to keep swimming.” Santos waited until Bowie left. “Jack?”

  “Sir?”

  “That invisibility idea we spoke of earlier? Might I recommend someone with an outside connection to the DA’s office lend a hand? We’ve had some success in that area before. Your choice, of course. But that’s how I would handle things.”

  “Right.” Jack would have made a longshoreman blush with the string of curses that slipped loose after he closed the door. There was only one PI they both knew they could trust, one who was capable of being stealthy and discreet. And he was about the last man he wanted to talk to.

  * * *

  “Earth to Jack. Hello!” Ashley waved a hand in front of his face before she snapped her fingers. “I know I’m not the most fascinating dinner companion, but you could at least grunt when I pause for a response. Especially since you messed up my sushi order last time.”

  “Huh?” Jack pulled himself out of the trance-inducing bass of classic rock beating gently out of the overhead speakers at the Brass Eagle. The downtown pub served mostly active and former military, but in recent months more than a few cops had begun to hang out here as well, much to the owner’s annoyance. Vince Sutton wasn’t the biggest fan of the police, but he was a fan of staying in business, so Jack and Cole putting out the word meant it all worked out. “Sorry, Ash. What did you say?”

  His sister rolled her eyes and sighed. “I said that next week I plan to add a pair of snow boots to my Tinker Bell costume for when I walk through the Railroad Museum in Old Sac.” Ashley peered over the rim of her wineglass with something akin to sibling annoyance. “What do you think? Pink or turquoise sequins? I’m leaning toward turquoise—”

  “Point taken.” Jack held up his hands, abandoning the beer bottle he’d been nursing for the past half hour. “Sorry.” Despite his need to speak to the bar’s owner tonight, it was Greta Renault who occupied most of his thoughts. While falling asleep on her couch had mortified him, it hadn’t seemed to phase her one bit. Neither had their ensuing conversation that left him feeling more than a bit uneasy about how the next few days were going to play out. He found her distracting. Utterly and completely, but also captivating and he was curious to know more, to know everything about her. He felt his lips curve as he remembered how easily off track she could get. One of those delightful quirks he found endearing. It hadn’t hurt that she could kiss a man into unexpected submission. He really, really didn’t need this. But want? That was another story. “Long day at work,” he finally said.

  “Too long.” Ashley nodded. “I guess we both got hit with the work-til-we-drop gene. Are you even going to toast to celebrate with me?”

  “Celebrate what?” Too late, he realized what he’d said. Ashley’s eyes narrowed in the same way they had when they were kids and she was about to throw one heck of a temper tantrum. “Sorry! Kidding.” Kind of. “Of course we are going to celebrate. Congratulations to the newest doctor on the Folsom General staff.” He clinked his bottle against her glass and scooted the bowl of sweet and spicy pretzels in front of her. “Dinner’s on me.”

  “Darn right it is,” Ashley grumbled with a good-natured smirk. “I’ve been catering to you long enough. You do okay today? Chest hurt? Breathing even? I know you still aren’t sleeping very much. It’s like living with a very large, insomniac rat rustling through the house every night.”

  “Jeez, Ash.” How he loved having it spelled out for him. “I’m fine. You want to perform an exam right here on the table?”

  “Ugh.” She shuddered. “No. I just want to make sure my big brother is taking care of himself. How many coffees did you drink today?”

  “None.”

  “Liar. You forget I know your tell.” She poked her index finger between his eyes in such a way that he laughed. “If you managed under five, I’ll be happy.”

  “Oh, well then. Three. And one decaf. And one tea.”

  “Tea?” Ashley’s naturally long lashes fluttered. “Ooh la! Drinking tea now, are we?” She rested her chin in her hand. “Who’s the girl?”

  “Seriously?” But Jack didn’t look at her. He busied himself scanning the area behind the bar. “Why do you always think there’s a girl? There is no girl.”

  She popped a pretzel in her mouth. “Uh-huh. Right. And uh-uh.” She pushed the bowl away, slapped her hands together to dust them off. “Don’t put things like that in front of me. They’re addictive.”

  “There are worse things to be addicted to,” Jack teased around the pride bursting through him. His sister was off-the-charts smart and had focused that intelligence brilliantly through life. An accomplished emergency-room trauma doctor and a woman who had jumped three grades in grammar school, his baby sister had graduated from high school nearly two years before he did. One reason he was more than used to his ego being kicked around like a hacky sack. “Have we reached the part of our relationship where you’re going to tell me what happened between you and Adam?”

  Ashley paused, her glass halfway to her lips. “I didn’t think dinner included a therapy session about my ex-husband.”

  “It doesn’t. It’s just...you’re amazing, Ash. Successful. Funny. Pretty. Smarter than I can ever hope to be, but sometimes I wonder if there’s a reason you haven’t started dating yet. It’s been over a year, right?”

  “Long enough for him to have gotten remarried to some postpubescent Bitsy... Bunny... Boopsie? Who can remember her name?” Her eyes glinted in a way that told Jack she remembered perfectly. She plucked up another pretzel and munched it with the force of Godzilla attacking a city. “They had a baby last month. A boy. Phoebus. Poor kid. Sounds like a name for a depressed beagle. Funny how it was never the right time to have a baby when I was married to Adam.” She cleared her throat as if had become clogged with tears.

  Jack pushed away the loathing of his former brother-in-law along with sympathy he knew Ashley would throw back in his face. As dedicated as she was to her career, he knew the one thing his sister had always wanted more than anything was a family of her own, but her unexpected whirlwind marriage to an undercover cop had worked against her. To say her life had become unstable was an understatement. She’d spent most every shift in the ER wondering if they were going to wheel in her husband. “You should get married again.”

  “Oh, what a great idea.” She gave him a slow clap. “Actually. I shouldn’t. I’m out.” This time she ate two pretzels before she waved a dismissive hand but didn’t quite manage to hide the flash of pain in her eyes. “And you can stop deflecting from the real reason we came here for dinner. Get on with it already.”

  “I can’t,” he admitted, giving up on the subject. For now. “Not until...well, now.” Vince Sutton emerged from the door leading up to the second-floor offices. His laser-beam gaze circled the room and landed square on Jack. Given Jack hadn’t stepped foot in this place since he’d been shot, he could pretty much guess what was going through the former Marine’s head.

  “Great. So, we can order? Hey, Vince.” Ashley beamed up at him as Vince approached the table.

  “Well, this is a surprise. Ashley. Good to see you.” He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed, his gold wedding band glinting in the dim light. The genuine affection Vince, Cole Delaney, and Max Kellan had shown his sister since she’d arrived in town had made Jack realize just how lucky he was to have friends like them. They and their wives had welcomed Ashley into their circle as if she was family because, to them, just like Jack, she was. “Special occasion?”

  “It is for me. I got the job.” Ashley grinned and emptied her wineglass. “I am most definitely cele
brating with the rarest and biggest burger you’ve got. And those sweet potato fries you make.”

  “You got it. Congratulations.” Vince motioned for her to scoot over, and he dropped onto the padded booth bench beside her. “Dinner’s on the house. It’ll be nice to have a doctor in the family. Well, another one. One who doesn’t dive into your head every time I see her.”

  “Allie only surface dives.” Ashley laughed. “But true, I am more the stitch-them-up and move-them-out kind of doctor.”

  “So, what brings you by?” Vince honed his attention on Jack. “Not that I’m not buying the celebration excuse.”

  “You’re not? But that was so believable!” Ashley whined like a five-year-old and pouted.

  Jack’s lips twitched. How was it Ashley described Vince? A cross between an action star and a purring tiger. The movie-star reference he got in spite of the scars and close-cropped military hair on the former Marine. But the tiger? He couldn’t ever remember hearing Vince purr. Growl sure, but purr?

  “What’s going on?” Vince asked him.

  “I need your help.” Jack swallowed his reluctance. His LT was right. They needed to keep this low key. If the wrong person got wind of Jack’s investigation...

  “I will take this as my cue to visit the ladies’ room.” Ashley shooed Vince out of her way. “I’ll take my time. You still have that pinball machine in the back room?”

  “Jason got a new high score last week,” Vince said, a proud smile spreading across his big-brother face as he reached into his pocket and handed her some quarters. “See if you can beat it.”

  “Consider him toast.”

  “Must be pretty bad for you to come to me,” Vince said once Ashley left. “What’s up?”

  Jack found it difficult to meet the other man’s eyes. “I have this case—” He broke off as Vince leaned forward to peer out the front window.

  “Huh.”

  “What?” Jack joined in searching the dark sky and passing headlights. “Did you see something?”